Three O'clock in the Morning
by EnjolrasForever
Summary: Nick is called back into Gatsby's house the night of that first party. Romance ensues


Three O'clock in the Morning

The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendo and I turned away and cut across the lawn toward home. I glanced back once. A wafer of a moon was shining over Gatsby's house, making the night fine as before and surviving the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden. A sudden emptiness seemed to flow now from the windows and the great doors, endowing with complete isolation the figure of the host who stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell.

I was about to turn away when Gatsby spotted me and beckoned me back to the porch. I looked around. Did he mean me? I gestured to myself with a "Who, me?" expression on my face, and he nodded. I trotted over and climbed the white stairs to meet him on the porch. Gatsby looked quite awkward for a moment, as if he hadn't really expected me to come.

"Remember, Old Sport, we're to go up in the hydroplane tomorrow," he said at last.

"I'll remember. Thank you for reminding me. And thank you again for having me. It was a wonderful party, truly."

I turned to leave again, but he caught my arm. "I wondered, old sport, if you would mind keeping me company until all of the guests have left. It _is_ awfully dull standing here and wishing people I don't know a safe drive home, and such. And, well…" he chuckled nervously.

I immediately agreed. "Yes, of course. I'd be delighted to have your company once more."

He grinned, and that dazzling, completely sincere smile nearly knocked me off my feet. I felt in that moment that I would agree to anything he asked.

Not half an hour passed before everyone had completely vacated the Gatsby house, and we stood chatting pleasantly, if rather sleepily, on the porch.

"Would you come in and have a whisky, old sport?" asked Gatsby with friendly enthusiasm.

I didn't particularly want more to drink, but I _did_ particularly desire to remain in this man's company. "I'd like that, thanks."

He led me into an oaken drawing room, heavily furnished and with a rich manly feel about it, and poured two glasses from the decanter on the mantle. The house was dark and quiet, and we sat together on the sofa, bathed in soft yellow lamplight. It was nothing less than intimate, but for some reason I felt perfectly comfortable with Gatsby. More comfortable than with just about anyone else I'd met before. We chatted a bit more over our drinks.

"I quite like your suit, old fellow," I said congenially, offering up the first genuine compliment I could think of. I felt an immediate need to compliment Gatsby, and all night I had noticed this suit, an appealing lavender with a silver-colored shirt and a darker purple tie. But though it appealed to me, I wondered at the choice of such… floral colors on a man of Gatsby's caliber.

"Why thank you very much, old sport. I have a fellow in England who buys me clothes. I have quite a few nice shirts. If you'd ever like to have one, you need only ask."

I am sure it is only because this statement was accompanied by Gatsby's gloriously understanding smile that I felt disinclined to take any offense at his blatant flaunting of wealth. Perhaps I had become all too used to this sort of talk in the East. Or perhaps it was because I felt that Gatsby's motive for his flamboyant, overly precise speech was that he had something to prove. I knew not why. Not yet.

After a while, we both began to yawn, the night having taken its toll.

"It's getting awfully late, old sport. May I offer you a nightcap?"

"Why, my place is just next door!" I said, laughing lightly.

"Yes, but I often get lonely in this big house of mine. Especially at night, alone in my bed."

Gatsby was drawing closer to me, and I realized that at some point during our conversation, his hand had crept onto my thigh. It rested there tantalizingly, and I suddenly became aware of what Gatsby was asking.

I felt a blush rising. Gatsby continued, his voice low and husky, "You're a college man, aren't you, Nick?" He'd called me by my first name. "And you were in the army?"

I gulped, my face hot. "Yes."

"So you know how things go?.. Between friends, that is…"

My breath had quickened. I was sure of what he was asking now. I replied, my voice quavering, half nervous and half excited. "Are you… inviting me to share your bed tonight…?"

His mouth, so close to mine, quirked into a smile and his eyes sparked desirously. I could feel his breath on my lips as he spoke. "If you would like that, yes." He smelled of smoke, liquor, and the sweet summer nights of Long Island. I wanted that man. I wanted to stroke those silken, red-blonde locks and gaze lustily into those stormy grey eyes. I wanted to run my fingers over his hardened body; his hardened cock; and hear him cry out, and feel his desire for _me_ in searing glances sent my way. I wanted him desperately.

"Oh, yes." I whispered, our lips hovering not a centimeter apart. Then they collided, and we were engulfed in flame. It quickly became an open-mouthed, hot, and messy affair. I tangled my fingers in his hair and let him take control of the kiss, moaning when he brushed his tongue across the roof of my mouth and when he sucked at my bottom lip. Gatsby, sensing my submission, pushed me gently down on the sofa and lied atop me. He began to tease at my throat, alternating stinging nips with his teeth and the gentle press of his lips. I lifted my chin to give him more access and stroked the back of his neck with one hand.

I had never been terribly communicative with touch, so I tended to be a very vocal lover. I mewled with pleasure at Gatsby's every touch. I was not shy with my voice when I made love, and I knew perfectly well that my lovers liked it that way. Gatsby was no exception. He smirked proudly as he undid my top shirt buttons and was rewarded with excited panting and another sloppy kiss.

"Would you like to take this upstairs?" he asked.

"Yes."

He took my hand and helped me up. It took us a while to get up the stairs to his room, because one of us was constantly pushing the other up against a wall to kiss or grind or laugh madly, over-tired and half-drunk.

When we finally reached his room, we collapsed into a giggling, moaning, panting heap on his bed. For a moment, we were calm. We lied face to face across his bed, so close that our noses could touch. As we gazed happily into one another's contentedly tired eyes, I think we both began to acknowledge the gravity of what we had agreed to share that night. Our smiles faded slightly. I was the first to speak.

"Are you certain?" I asked this wonderful, beautiful man, knowing full well his answer could be "No".

"Yes." He said without pause, and I could have cried with relief. For some reason, even though_ he_ had seduced _me_, I think I would have felt responsible for any regret that might have come afterwards. Because I'm… because I am… this way.

Looking back on this now, I realize that Gatsby and all of the others must have been like me, or they would never have agreed to sleep with me; but to this day I feel a bit of guilt about all the sexual encounters I've had with other men. I've always felt that _I_ was responsible for turning them, or something of the sort. _I_ was responsible for their sin. _I_ was the only sick being who could ever think…this way…

But at the time I did not think of this. I simply kissed Gatsby joyously, and began to strip him of his clothing. We quickly shimmied out of our suit jackets and somehow managed to unbutton our own shirts well enough to pull them off and fling them onto the floor between kisses.

I stroked up and down his lovely tan chest and ran my fingers through the light dusting of blondish curls. His pert nipples were just charming, and I mouthed over them and teased them with my teeth, glad to hear his hum of pleasure.

Gatsby had a surprisingly boyish physique. He was leanly muscled and his wide shoulders tapered to an attractive waist at his hips. Unable to wait to see what was lower, I unfastened his suit pants and pulled them off, throwing them roughly towards our shirts and suit jackets.

Laughing, Gatsby straddled me and attacked my pant's fastenings, saying, "That's hardly fair, Nick, you're not nearly as naked as I am!" He kissed me, and then tugged down my pants and underwear in one swift motion, throwing them across the room. Completely exposed, even in the low light I felt embarrassed, and curled in upon myself instinctually.

"Don't," he said, sweetly stroking my cheek. "You're perfect." And then he slid off his own underwear and pressed his body against mine.

Skin against skin we moved, reveling in the slide of our bodies, damp with sweat. Our mouths rarely moved far enough away from each other to breath properly, so after a few minutes Gatsby rolled off of me panting. We lied face to face on our sides, foreheads pressed together and legs entangled. Gatsby trailed his fingers up and down my back.

"How do you want it, Nick?" Gatsby asked, voice low.

My eyes fluttered wider in surprise. I had not expected this question, and I honestly did not know the answer. Oh, I'd had an amount of experience in these matters, but normally things just took their course. "Couldn't we just… bring each other off?" I asked tentatively.

"You mean hands, Nick? That's no fun. Let's do it properly. I'd much rather fuck you if you're up for it."

He said it with such filthy heat that the hair raised slightly on my arms. But I did not feel comfortable with allowing him such a liberty at this point. I didn't want to be half-drunk and exhausted when Gatsby took me. That, and I normally only allowed such a thing with my long-term lovers. If we were to become that, this would come later. If not, it would never happen. Still, I knew that simple rutting would not satisfy him; and I was not an inattentive lover.

"If you'd like it… I'll blow you," I said with a tentative smirk.

Gatsby's eyes widened and he stared at me, lips parted in surprise and furiously blushing.

So unexpected was this facial expression on Gatsby that I nearly laughed. In that moment, he looked as innocent as a virgin. It was so heart-wrenchingly sweet that I wanted him even more than I had a moment before. I was sure this had not been offered him often, if at all. It was not the sort of thing any respectable woman – or respectable man, for that matter – would do. But I took pleasure from it. I liked having such power over my lovers, while still giving myself to them fully. In my mind, when I could turn someone to putty with my ministrations, I was the one in power, even if he was the one thrusting into my mouth.

In any case, the one thing that I was sure Gatsby's look told me was, "Yes, I'd like that very, very much." I grinned archly and began without hesitation.

I got up onto my hands and knees and crawled down Gatsby's bed. I pushed Gatsby's hips down so that he was lying on his back, and he promptly propped himself up on his elbows to watch. My cock twitched with excitement. Gently, I took his flush, hard prick into my hand and looked up at him, my mouth hovering not half an inch away from his weeping cock. He closed his eyes and gulped in anticipation, attempting unsuccessfully to suppress a little thrust into the air.

I could see he was absolutely ready for this. I, on the other hand, rather wanted to tease him a bit. Grinning mischievously, my eyes still locked on Gatsby, I breathed warm breath onto the sensitive organ in my hand. He shivered and thrust up into my hand, desperate for some friction. I could not help but laugh playfully at this, and Gatsby, frustrated, snapped, "Get on with it, will you?"

"Oh, of course," I drawled. "_Anything_ for _you_, Jay" I licked gently across the head of his cock, still not giving him what he wanted. To my surprise, and aching pleasure, Gatsby roughly shoved my head down onto his erection. I took him gladly as deeply as I could, making up for what I could not take with my hand at the base. I like it a little bit rough sometimes. And apparently my Jay did _not_ like to be teased.

I sucked him off hard and fast, and as well as I knew how; to apologize for teasing him. He was very good in return, refraining from gagging me as well as he could. He left his hand where it was, tangled in my curls, but did not put any pressure on my head.

Jay's pleasured groans went straight to my groin. Determined to make him all but scream, I ran my tongue along the thick vein beneath his cock and then flicked it over the slit.

"Aaaah!" he cried, throwing his head back.

Pulling off slightly, I tried sucking hard on just the tip of his cock, and was rewarded with a loud whine and fingers tightening in my curls. Sensing that he was close, I quickly took him as deeply as I could manage, squeezing the base one last time. He came with a strangled cry into my mouth.

I slid off, swallowed his cum, and wiped my wet mouth with the back of my hand. I looked up at Gatsby. Although, his face had the slack of satiety, he looked a bit embarrassed.

"I'm sorry I – that I didn't warn – "

"It's quite alright." And it was. I hadn't expected one so inexperienced to know exactly what he was doing with this. He had been very gentle with me, so he really needn't have felt awkward about cumming into my mouth without warning.

I pulled him into a kiss, and his hand immediately snaked down to my unattended member. He had not forgotten me. He stroked me hard a few times and I moaned into his mouth.

"Nick, Nick," he whispered, pulling away from the kiss. "What can I do for you? I'll let you do anything. I'll suck you off or stroke you. Anything. You can fuck me if you'd like."

I was surprised at this last offer. I did not see Gatsby as the type to enjoy that sort of thing. In fact, I had the feeling that he did not often let someone take him, and was incredibly flattered that he would allow such a thing of me. That's probably why I considered the offer, even after having selfishly avoided his desire to take me.

Gatsby saw my hesitation and knew my thoughts. "You want to fuck me, don't you?" he said decisively. "You need only ask, Nick. Please, I'll give you anything! Just ask." My heart swelled with what could only be love for this man. So generous. So kind. So modest. I wanted him to be forever mine.

I looked at Gatsby from under my lowered lashes. "May I…?" I began.

"Yes…?" he prompted.

"Would it be alright if I… took you?"

His face broke out into a wild smile and he laughed. "You say it so prettily that I'm sure I need not even ask you to be gentle!" He was making fun of me, and I smiled embarrassedly and blushed, looking down.

Then he lifted my chin and kissed me sweetly. "Yes, though. It would be more than alright if you _took me_." This time it was he making amends for teasing.

Without hesitation, Gatsby reached into the drawer of his oaken bedside table and took out a salve. He spread a generous amount over his fingers and then lied back and spread his legs, completely exposed to me. Propped up on the pillows, he slowly pressed one of his slick fingers into his opening. His eyes fluttered up every now and then, acknowledging that he knew I was watching. And I was. Oh, I was.

He bit his red bottom lip enticingly as he began with a second finger and made small sounds at the back of his throat. My cock twitched and I palmed it gently, dying for some friction. Jay saw me do so. "Mm-mm, Nick," he said breathily, shaking his head. "You have to save it all for me." Chastised, I took my hand off my aching hardness.

Jay began to thrust and scissor his two fingers inside of him, whimpering and humming with pleasure. I couldn't help myself. I had to touch him. So I slicked up my own fingers and, leaning in to kiss him, pressed my index finger in beside his own

"Ah!" we both cried; he at the intrusion, and I at the tight, wet heat surrounding my finger. I couldn't wait to feel him surrounding my hot, heavy cock. We thrust our fingers in a few more times and moved them around a bit. Finally, the words I had been waiting for.

"Nick, now. I'm ready."

We both removed our fingers, and I guided my cock to his entrance and pressed slowly into his velvet heat. I groaned loudly and cried out Jay's name. Pulling him close to me, I kissed him as we thrust together.

Jay was quite hard again by now, and he let out pretty little cries every time I hit that spot inside of him. He reached between us and began to stroke himself in time with my thrusts. A few more thrusts and I was finished, escaping for a moment into blinding white ecstasy. Jay came a moment after with a shout, and then I collapsed on top of him, reveling in the hot, sticky, slickness of our bodies. I lied there for a moment, still inside of him, then slid out of his delicious heat and flopped next to him on the bed, nuzzling into his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and held me close, neither of us minding the mess.

A few minutes later we stood and cleaned up. Overwhelming exhaustion stealing over us, we collapsed into Jay's warm bed naked and curled up together. We drifted off to sleep, the three o'clock chimes sounding somewhere in Jay Gatsby's large, empty house. I felt that we were the only happy creatures on earth.


End file.
